


In the beginning

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories are suppose to fade with time, not wiped away like chalk from a blackboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know the rules regarding head injuries/memory loss concerning commercial airline pilots. Please forgive any inaccuracies.

The house was nice. Carpeted floors, floral wallpaper, and the distinct faint smell of lavender. For a place that supposedly housed two men, it was very feminine. There were picture frames on the wall. Most of them were art pieces, others were newspaper clippings, pictures of Douglas' daughter, Douglas and the rest of the MJN crew.

It held no familiarity.

"Our room is upstairs," said Douglas. He pointed up the stairs. "Um... if you don't feel comfortable with that, I can make up the guest bedroom for you."

It sounded like it hurt Douglas to say that. Martin turned around, the polite side wanting to decline the offer. "Yes please," he said. "I think that would be best."

Douglas nodded. He was very good at hiding his disappointment. "The house is yours," he said. "It always has been."

There was a silver picture frame sitting on top of the fireplace. It was a wedding photo. From where he stood, Martin could barely make out the details but he knew whose wedding photo that was. He didn't want to see it. "I would like to see my room."

"Alright," said Douglas. "Um, follow me."

There were more photos on the stair walls and these were harder to ignore. There was a photo of Martin in his uniform, standing in front of Gerti. There was a picture of Arthur Shappey, holding up a strange little dog. There was also a newspaper clipping. The headline said something about an emergency landing in St Petersburg.

Once they're on the top step, the first bedroom door was opened slightly, allowing Martin to quickly peer inside. There was a large bed with a purple blanket, a dressar drawer and paintings on the wall. But Douglas led him down past the bedroom, past the restroom, into what Martin assumed was the guest room.

It really wasn't a guest room, more like an extra room for stuff. There were boxes with the words 'winter clothes' printed on the side. Others had words like 'Christmas lights' or 'gifts Arthur has given us'. There was a bed but the sheets and blanket were folded at the end.

"Oh, let me-" Douglas moved forward to set the bed up.

"It's fine," said Martin. "I can do that."

Douglas pulled away. There was an awkward pause. "I should probably start on dinner," he said, going to the door. "I'll make rissotto."

Martin was surprised. "That's my favorite. How did you kn-"

He bit his lip, cutting himself off.

"You actually told me on your first day at MJN," Douglas admitted to him. "So I've known for a while."

As Douglas' footsteps were heard going down the steps, Martin sat on the bed, feeling so out of place and uncomfortable. He wished he was back at his attic. He wished he could have stayed at his mother's house or Caitlin's.

Unconsciously he played with the little gold ring on his finger.

 

 

 

 

According to his Martin's doctors, it was an accident. Somebody had spilled their drink in the airport and instead of cleaning it up or telling someone about it, they left it there on the ground.

Then came along Martin. He slipped and fell and cracked his head so badly that he went into a coma for a week.

When he woke up, five years of memories were wiped away.

Martin has seen this trope used in films before. Somebody gets amnesia and the audience watches them interact with the world they barely know. Martin had enjoyed those films.

In those films though, they never explained the  _slowness_  of it all. Every day when Martin woke up, he had to remind himself he did not live at the attic anymore. Every day he had to remind himself of the year, the season, the change of the world and everyone in it.

Every day he looked into a mirror and tried not to feel shock when an older man looked back at him. There were scars on his body that he didn't have before. There was certain weight and girth to him that he didn't have before. Every day there was a new discovery and it scared him half to death.

When Martin first woke up, everyone was so very  _careful_  of what they said or did in order to keep him from panicking. If they wanted to keep him from panicking, they should have taken the wedding ring off his finger.

At first, Martin was estatic. He was  _married_. Somebody wanted him, wanted him so much that they were willing to spend their life with him. Who was his wife, did he have any kids?

Douglas reached over and grasped Martin's hand. Martin had jumped because, well, it was  _Douglas_. His first officer, his colleague, Douglas was the man who practically sneered at Martin on his first. Why would he touch him?

"Martin," Dougla said, covering Martin's hand with his own. A gold ring was on his finger. "It's me."

 

 

 

 

 

Martin did his best to make 'his room' more liveable. He moved the boxes around to give himself more space, opened the windows to let the air in, aired out the sheets and blankets. A part of him was actually enjoying the cleaning. It was something he could do, something he could have control over, however small and insignificant it was.

Once he was done he felt disappointed there wasn't much else he could do. He was also getting hungry and knew he was going have to go downstairs and face reality. Face Douglas.

It was not as if Martin hated Douglas. Martin's read Douglas' files and knew how capable of a pilot he was. But that was all Martin knew about him. In Martin's mind, he's only known Douglas for a _month_.

His stomach growled. Martin sighed. There was no avoiding this.

As he walked to the stairs, the smell of risotto filled his senses. It smelled wonderful. After eating nothing but hospital grub for a week, Martin's mouth began watering for real food.

He hesitated by the kitchen doorway, watching mutely as Douglas poured the finished risotto into a bowl. Douglas looked up and saw him. "Hello," he said fondly. "It's done. Why don't you take a seat?"

Martin did. He felt awkward sitting there at the table while Douglas brought out plates and cups. By the time he moved to stand up and offer help, Douglas was already done. "Eat as much as you want," Douglas said, pouring a generous portion onto Martin's plate.

Oh God, it smelled so good. Martin did remember Douglas saying he was a great cook, but Martin thought Douglas was just boasting. Martin should have known Douglas wasn't lying about this.

The risotto was good. Very good. "This is incredible," Martin admitted in between bites.

Douglas looked smug. "Of course."

After three hearty plates, Martin leaned back into his chair with a contented sigh. It felt good to be full. To his memory, he was still living with the university students and being very careful of what he bought from day to day. To save on food, he never over-indulged. The feeling of a heavy stomach was something he hadn't felt since the early years of university.

"I'm glad to see your appetite hasn't changed," Douglas said, getting up to take the dishes away. He placed the dishes in the sink and grabbed Martin's prescription. "Here," he said, shaking out two pills. "After each meal."

Martin held out his hand and Douglas angled his palm so the pills tumbled over onto Martin's.

Without even thinking, Douglas swooped down and planted a soft kiss on top of Martin's head.

Martin jerked away, stunned. Douglas pulled back, surprised and embarrassed. "I apologize," he said, capping the prescription bottle. "I forgot myself."

 

 

 

 

 

_"How?" Martin asked. He looked to Caitlin, to Simon. Neither of them said something. "How did this happen?"_

_Douglas leaned over and gently grasped Martin's hand. Martin nearly pulled away, stunned, but Douglas held strong. "In some way, we both knew where this was going. We worked together for years and every day that passed, I got to know you better and better. "_

_Finally Martin pulled his hand away. "But marriage? You and I...?"_

_"Ironically," Dougas said, giving him a dazzling smile. "You proposed to me."_

 

 

 

 

That next morning, Martin heard Douglas get up to go to work. Martin has aways been an early riser and usually he would have got out of bed and gone down to make himself a cup of coffee.

Instead, he laid in bed, not moving, feeling so horribly out of place. He was reminded when he was five and his parents took him and his siblings to his aunt's house. Martin's aunt was a sweet lady and the bedrooms she gave them were comfortable, but due to the unfamiliarity of the place, Martin never slept for the two days they were there. The moment he hopped back into the car, he slept the whole way home.

It disgusted Martin how he could remember such a simple, small portion of his childhood and not the last five years.

He hated the fact that he laid there listening Douglas get into the shower and not getting dressed himself. He hated that he would have to wait up to a full month until he could be deemed healthy enough to fly a plane. He hated that he worked so hard to come so far and now everything was for naught.

Douglas ended his shower. Martin heard him get out, get dressed. Martin thought he would then hear Douglas' footsteps go down the stairs, but instead they trudged to his room.

Douglas knocked on the door twice and opened slightly. "The shower is yours if you want it," he said softly. Martin tried not to tense. "I'm going downstairs to make breakfast."

After a year of marriage, Douglas would probably know Martin liked to get up early. Martin waited till he heard Douglas' footsteps disappear down the stairs and got up. Silently he padded out of his room and into the master bedroom. His and Douglas'. Martin had come into this room briefly last night to collect some clothes and his toothbrush. He didn't give himself a chance for a good look.

In the muted dark, Martin could see it was a very comfortable looking room. A large (unmade) bed in the middle, a desk pushed against a wall, a dresser drawer pushed against the other while another door opened up to the main bathroom.

Hanging from the ceiling were aeroplane models.

Embarrassed, Martin went straight for the bathroom.

He took a ridiculously long time to shower and dress. He was stalling. He didn't want to go downstairs and make awkward talk with Douglas. After yesterday's kiss, Martin wasn't comfortable around him.

To Martin, Douglas was a stranger.

Martin stalled for so long he eventually heard Douglas leave for work. He thought Douglas would never leave.

He waited till he saw the car pull away from the street. He wandered down the stairs to the now empty house. There was nothing but the soft noise of a ticking clock. Martin went into the kitchen and sitting on top of the table, wrapped in plastic, was a plate of food.

Next to it was Martin's prescription and a note.  _Remember to take them after you eat. Simon will be in around lunch to check on you._

The breakfast was delicious, which made Martin feel guilty for ignoring Douglas this morning. After eating, Martin took his pills and washed his dishes. When he tried to put them away, he got frustrated when he didn't know where they went. To avoid that in the future, he spent the next ten minutes rumaging through all the cabinets and drawers to see where everything was.

He felt like a pervert in some ways. He knew this was his home and he had every right to go through these drawers, but he might as well be rummaging through his neighbours' home for all he knew.

Martin walked into the living room. It had everything you would expect from a standard living room: a television, comfortable looking chairs, books and DVDs scattered about. There were various nicknacks displayed and Martin supposed these were souvenirs from the places they've been. There was a hula dancing girl, a stuffed polar bear, a pair of broken aviator glasses, and a couple of snow globes.

He picked up the aviator glasses and knew right away that they must belong to him because these wouldn't fit Douglas' face. Why Martin would allow such a good pair of glasses be broken (and stay broken) was a mystery.

He looked around at the DVDs, gaping at some of the titles. That was five years of films he has never seen or heard of. The King's Speech? The Avengers? Winter's Bone?

That was also five years of books Martin has never read. Good God, was that the last Harry Potter book he saw sitting on the shelf?

 

 

 

 

At twelve-thirty, there was a knock at the front door. Martin marked his page and got up to answer it. He knew it wasn't Douglas, Douglas wasn't suppose to be back till late in the afternoon. He was flying business men to France.

As Douglas said in his note, it was Simon at the door. Simon was the still the overly-large man Martin remembered, except there was a little grey in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes. "Martin," Simon cooed, stretching his arms out for a hug. Martin tensed, thinking he was going to be lifted up into the air.

Simon hugged him gently and frankly that shocked him more. "How are you doing, big brother?"

"I'm okay," Martin said. "Right now I'm reading the last Harry Potter book."

Simon made a face. "What? I thought everyone in the world has already read-"

He cut himself off. "So, huh, are you going to let me in or what?"

Martin brought Simon into the kitchen for tea. Though Martin didn't say it, he was showing off by going to the right cabinet to get the kettle and mugs. See, Simon? I do know my way around.

They talked, Simon telling Martin about the things that have happened in the last five years. Politics, pop culture, music, and general news. Martin was stuck between feeling like the whole world had passed him by and feeling like nothing had changed. It was weird.

Halfway through lunch Simon's phone dinged. Martin watched as Simon pulled out this tiny little black thing and tapped on it. "It's Annie," he said. Annie was his daughter. "She's informing me she's staying after school for a project."

Martin gulped. The last time he saw- the last time he  _remembered_  Annie, she was ten years old. "Do you have a picture?"

To keep stress from slowing down Martin's recovery, it was recommended that only very close family should visit him in the hospital. Martin had yet to see what any of his nieces or nephews.

Simon clicked on his phone. He hesitated, then passed it over.

In Martin's memory, Annie was a chubby blonde with big teeth and glasses. In the picture Simon showed him, Annie was now a young woman. She dyed her hair black at some point, and decided to wear contacts. She must've got braces in the years past because her teeth were perfectly straight now. She was wearing makeup and her hair was short.

Martin didn't recognize her.

A sob forced it's way out of his mouth and Martin tried his best to smother it. Everything, the whole situation, suddenly hit him like a sandbag falling out of the sky. Five years of his life was  _gone_  and he had no idea if he would ever recover from it.

He bowed his head and sobbed into his hands. He felt Simon's large arms circle around him and that only made him want to cry harder. Simon wasn't suppose to be gentle. He was not suppose to be gentle.


	2. Chapter 2

If Martin had lost all his memories concerning his flying knowledge, he probably would have thrown himself out a window.

He said this off-handily, trying to make it sound like a joke, but the way Douglas had paled made Martin regret ever opening his mouth.

Technically the CAA couldn't keep him from flying. The injury had taken Martin's memories, not his cognitive skills or his physical abilities. After a brief examination, he was deemed healthy to fly. Truth be told, Martin didn't know what he would have done if he wasn't allowed to fly. He tried not to think about it too often.

Martin sat by the phone, unsure of who to call first. He thought about calling his mother, or maybe even Caitlin. He knew though, that the very first person he should call was Douglas.

A few times Martin reached out, picked up the phone and dialed in Caitlin's number, only to stop and put the receiver back down. He did this three times, berating himself, knowing what the proper procedure was.

Douglas should be the first to know. Taking a breath to steady himself, he dialed Douglas' mobile number. Half of Martin wished the call would go straight to voicemail but Douglas picked up on the second ring. "Oh captain, my captain," Douglas answered. "To what do I owe this wonderful call?"

"I passed," Martin said into the phone. His voice was both giddy with happiness and shyness. It was amazing he didn't stutter saying it. "I'm allowed to fly."

"That's wonderful, Martin, it truely is. We must celebrate."

"I... I can't. I have to call Carolyn and tell her-"

"CAROLYN!" Douglas yelled suddenly, holding the phone at a distance and creating an echo. "MARTIN CAN FLY AGAIN!"

From the background Martin could hear a small voice going, "About time! You're boring when you don't have someone to tease!"

Douglas' voice came back on the phone. "She knows. I'll be home at seven. Be dressed."

 

 

 

 

When Douglas said 'celebrate', Martin imagined a pub, cold beer, peanuts, and rock music playing loudly in the background. That's what two guys do, right? Go out and rub elbows with other men, talk sport and eat fatty foods?

He didn't expect an actual restaurant, with waiters, dim lighting, and lit candles on their table.

Ever since the kiss, Douglas has politely kept his hands to himself. Beyond the occasional innocent touch like a clap on the shoulder or an accidental bump, he has ceased anything that would be considered affectionate. For a while Martin harbored the illusion he was living with a flatmate rather than with his husband.

The restaurant shattered that daydream. This was not a place you brought a friend or colleague. This was a place you brought your spouse or significant other. There were couples at every table and all of them looked happy and in love and pleased with each other.

"I thought," Martin began. "I thought we were going go to the pub."

Douglas scoffed. "This is suppose to be a celebration, Martin. A pub has a little too much testosterone for my taste. Besides, your doctors said to avoid alcohol and I don't drink."

"Oh... is it because of... religion? Or..."

"It's because I'm a recovering alcoholic," Douglas said bluntly. He said it without hate or bitterness but it made Martin wince all the same. "You didn't learn about that until your third year with us." He added on.

"I'm sorry," Martin murmured, though he didn't know why he said it. Was he apologizing because of his memory or because of Douglas' alcoholism?

"There's no reason for you to be apologetic," Douglas said, reaching over and gently grasping Martin's left hand. "I understand it'll take time. There's no need to rush."

His fingers brushed over Martin's knuckles in a affectionate manner. Douglas frowned suddenly. "Where's your ring?"

At first Martin didn't know what he was talking about. Douglas was still holding Martin's hand, but his eyes were on the third finger, devoid of the golden ring.

Martin thought about lying. He could have said he took it off when washing his hands and forgot to put it back on. Or he took off the ring when he got an MRI.

"I took it off," said Martin, pulling his hand away. "I felt uncomfortable."

He was too busy looking down at his plate to see the expression on Douglas' face.

"I understand," said Douglas evenly. He didn't sound hurt but what the fuck did Martin know? Absolutely fucking nothing.

 

 

 

 

The uniform fit like a glove. A well-used glove that been dragged through the mud a dozen times, but a glove. The elbows were worn down, the gold braid was not so golden anymore and there were loose threads everywhere. But when Martin put it on, it was like putting on a second skin. It was so familiar and soft and Martin couldn't be more comfortable if he was wearing boxers and a well-worn sleep shirt.

"Don't you look handsome," Douglas said, looking at him from his spot by the doorframe. "Excited about today?"

How much did Douglas know? Did he know of Martin's wish to be an aeroplane when he was child? Did he know of Martin's secret love/hate relationship with Top Gun? Martin knew his love of flying was often met with laughter and long-winded suffering. Douglas must know how much Martin loved it. How much he needed it.

Martin supposed he should find it ironic that the person he ended up marrying was a pilot. "Very," he said to Douglas, allowing himself a shy smile. "It feels like it's been a million years since I've been in a plane."

"Well, I know Carolyn and Arthur misses you. Carolyn won't admit it and Arthur looks like he's going to cry every time your name is brought up. Expect to be hugged and nit-picked today."

They drove to the airport. Douglas played word games with him, something he has never done (At least in Martin's mind) during their first flights and Martin wondered when did this start. Douglas won without even trying but the game made Martin laugh so hard he hoped they could continue this while in the flight deck.

The house wasn't familiar, but as Martin walked through Fitton airport with Douglas by his side, it felt right. It felt like he'd been doing this since the dawn of time. The memories weren't there to support him but to him, this was home.

He walked to the MJN office with butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Carolyn, he remembered, was a hostile old woman who was willing to fire Martin if showed even a hint of being incompetent. He remembered Arthur was like an over-enthusiastic puppy and despite Martin's repeated corrections, Arthur still called him, 'Skip.' Like Douglas, had they changed over the years too?

"Nope," said Douglas. "They're pretty much the same."

The very first thing Carolyn did Martin walked through the door was hug him. She kissed him gently on the cheek and said smartly, "About time you came back."

Arthur, surprisingly, kept his distance. "Hi, Martin," he said. He looked like he'd been crying. "I'm glad you're back."

After a brief meeting of their destination and future flights, all three of them escorted Martin up to GERTI. He felt a little ridiculous having his first officer, an old woman, and a happy-go-lucky steward flanking his sides.

When he entered the flight deck, his breath caught in his throat.

Forget the airport, this was his return home. Martin glided to the captain's chair and he sat, his hands spreading out over the control panel lovingly. His fingers curled over the yoke and he swore the natural indentations were made for him.

Douglas took the seat besides him. "Ready for take-off, captain?"

 

 

 

Martin has never felt so happy. In the past, he was lucky if he could land a plane without losing a wheel in the process. Of course in the past five years he would get better. Of course his body would learn the feel of the GERTI and adapt to her changes. Muscle memory hadn't left him and when they landed in Madrid two hours laters, he almost cried.

"Wonderful landing, Captain Crieff," Douglas said, leaning back in his chair and looking very proud. "I should have known this is what you would remember best."

If anybody else had said that, Martin would've thought it was an insult. Who wouldn't be insulted if their husband remembered a machine better than them? But Douglas didn't sound angry or bitter. He sounded proud.

Martin fell in love with him right then and there.

Maybe the feeling was always there, hidden under all this mess, Martin didn't know. He didn't care. The affection he felt towards Douglas at that moment was so deep it made his heart ache.

Douglas undid his seatbelt and got up to leave. Martin scrambled to undo his own, bolted out of his seat, grasped Douglas around the arm to stop him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw the ring on Douglas' finger. Despite everything, he never took it off. Martin moved closer, went up on his toes, and gently kissed Douglas on the mouth.

His body didn't forget this either. It automatically moved closer to Douglas, his hands grasping firmer onto Douglas' arms for support as his mouth instinctively moved.

Douglas didn't hesitate and kissed back, wrapping a hand around Martin's head, refusing to let go. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue inside, coaxing Martin to respond with soft gasps and moans.

"What do you remember?" Douglas said, breaking away. He didn't let go, keeping his face so near that every time he spoke his lips brushed against Martin's skin. "Everything?"

"No," said Martin. "I remember nothing."

That answer made Douglas move his head back. "What? Then why were you...?"

His mouth thinned and he dropped his hands. "Martin," he began, taking a step back. "Don't kiss me if you think you're only making me feel better. I don't-"

"I'm not kissing you to make you feel better!" Martin protested. He paused and thought about that. "Okay, maybe a small part of me was, but that wasn't my main reason. This whole time you were calling me 'captain' and... making me laugh and... and being on the flight deck in our uniforms and... and it made me... happy..."

He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

Douglas stepped back into his space, his arms circling around Martin. "So what you're saying is... you felt affectionate because I called you captain?"

OH GOD. That was the most egotistical thing someone could say about Martin and yet he couldn't deny it. God, fuck, what if what he was feeling was not love, but plain narcissism? Did that mean he would have fallen in love with Arthur if Arthur called him captain a couple dozen times?

Martin tried pulling away as his face went beet red and shamed tears gathered at the edge of his eyes. Douglas refused to let go. When his hand tried to grasp Martin's chin, Martin evaded his touch.

"Look at me... Martin, Martin-! Look at me."

Martin blinked up at him. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

"Captain," Douglas murmured, laughing gently. Martin could feel the vibration of the laugh echoing through his chest. "I'm so glad you haven't changed."

He swooped down for a kiss, one of which Martin was hesitant to give back. Douglas moved his lips to Martin's cheeks, his eyes, giving him little intimate pecks as the embarrasment and self-hatred slowly drained away.

"I missed you," Douglas whispered in between kisses. "I missed you."

 

 

 

The car ride back was a little awkward, at least to Martin. Douglas seemed to be enjoying himself, humming along to the music on the radio while Martin sat fidgeting in his chair.

"Was it me..." Douglas said, making Martin jump. "Or did Arthur seem... subdued?"

When it was announced Martin was to be MJN's new captain, Arthur ran up to Martin and given him a Toblerone and a literal three minute hug. In Martin's memory, Arthur was never sad, never upset, and said 'Brilliant' so many times the word lost meaning.

The Arthur Martin had met today was immensely shy. He was quiet and when he came in to serve coffee, he barely acknowledged the thank-you Martin gave him. If anything, Martin thought something changed in the past five years to make Arthur act so quiet. Maybe this was normal behaviour. "I really hadn't noticed."

"Well, he was pretty upset about your accident," Douglas admitted as he pulled into his driveway. "Maybe he still is. I'll speak to him about it."

Martin followed Douglas into the house. He had yet to see this place as home. He saw it as he would a hotel, a place to sleep and eat, but silently counting down the days until he was back in his own bed. "Are you hungry?" Douglas asked, taking off his pilot jacket and putting it away in the wardrobe. "I'm still full from lunch, but I can make something if you like."

"No," said Martin, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Good." Douglas turned on his heel and leaned his back against the wardrobe door. A wolfish grin was on his lips. "Then we have more time for other activities."

"Good grief, Douglas," Martin said. His cheeks burned. "Don't tell me I actually fell for those type of pick-up lines."

"Subtlety is not your forte. I have to be blatantly obvious otherwise you don't get the meaning. Did you know, the very first time I tried to kiss you, you actually thought I was trying to get to piece of lint off your face?"

Actually, Martin could believe that. Instead of stumbling and trying for an excuse, Martin liften his chin in defiance and said, "How do I know it was really because you're a crap kisser and I tried to give you an out?"

He nearly apologized.

Douglas growled and swiftly came into Martin's space, crowding him up against a wall, pulling him close. "Don't challenge me," he whispered, curling his hands around the back of Martin's head and the small of his back. "You'll lose, like always."

On the plane, Martin was a bundle of nerves. He had kissed Douglas in the same way he would approach a pool filled with questionable temperature water: with caution. He wasn't sure where it would go, how he himself would take it.

There was no questions now. Martin let himself be pulled close, let himself be kissed and be kissed thoroughly. Where his mind forgot his body remembered, and this, this felt familiar. He could feel his memories dancing at the edge of his conscious and it was agony to be unable to reach them. So he kissed Douglas harder, longer, trying to grasp at something he couldn't see.

Douglas pulled away to breathe. "Bed," he said roughly.

Martin nodded.

 

 

 

The memories came slowly. Agonizingly slowly. The doctors did tell him it would be like this. One second he wouldn't know the name of a friend, the next he would be calling them up, inviting them over for dinner.

The unfortunate thing was, there was no sure fire way to tell if Martin regained all his memories. Douglas could help fill the gaps but there were too many variables involved. The doctors warned him there was a chance some memories could be lost to him forever.

But they came, in weird, little unnoticeable ways. Like when he was preparing Douglas' morning coffee and knowing exactly how strong he preferred it to be.

One day, while driving to work, Martin pointed out the window and said, "Yellow car." Douglas laughed for so long and so hard, he nearly started crying. Martin had no idea why he pointed out a yellow car but Douglas' happiness was too good to dispel with such a question.

They were stupid, little things and while Martin was hesitant to call them successes, he knew each day was a step closer.

 

 

 

"I'm not sure you should fly with us today, Martin."

Carolyn should never play poker. The moment she said that, her eyes drifted to Douglas. This was not a personal preference, Martin could tell. She and Douglas had talked about this before Martin walked into the room. "Why?"

Martin tried to keep his voice light and genuinely confused. On the inside, he was fuming.

Another shared glance. Carolyn then sighed and said, "Today is Birling day."

Martin waited for someone to explain. "Is that suppose to mean something to me?"

"Mr. Birling," Douglas began. "is a passanger of MJN. Every single year we fly him out to watch the Rugby finals. He gets drunk, we pander to his whims, and we all end up walking away nearly ten thousand pounds richer."

"That sounds... embarrassing and intresting... mostly embarrassing. But if we're all going to get paid so much, then why don't you want me to fly?"

"Because Mr. Birling is a twat and if he learns of your memory loss, he's going to milk it for all it's worth."

Martin snorted. "Oh come on, nobody is that mean!"

They both gave him a look.

"I... no... you're telling me... oh..." He bit his lip, thinking it over. He wasn't sure what type of insults somebody could say to victim of memory loss. Hey, what did you have for breakfast last week? Can't remember? Of the various ways someone could make fun of Martin, his memory loss was pretty low on the list.

He shook his head. "I'm still flying."

Douglas looked like he was going to protest and Martin cut him off. "We can't keep putting this off. Sooner or later someone is going to make a crude joke and I might as well build a skin for it. I'm flying and that's final."

 

 

 

Well that was a complete disaster.

By the time they landed back in Fitton, Martin was so red in the face he thought he could cook an egg on his skin. He thought he could handle the insults thrown his way.

No, they were not insults, they were jokes. Cruel jokes and the laughter that followed was worse.

_"So you don't remember me? Probably for the best. The very first time you greeted me as captain, you were drunker than I was."_

_"What! Are you serious?"_

_"No, idiot. Ha ha ha ha ha!"_

They started out as stupid jokes. Martin tried his best to ignore it. He knew how much Carolyn relied on Mr. Birling's money.

_"I'm glad to see you were able to retain your pilot abilities. I remember there was a time when you would land this plane with the breaks on."_

_Martin laughed. "Ha! You won't get me again, Mr. Birling."_

_"What are you talking about, you idiot boy? You really did land with the breaks on!"_

_Confused, Martin looked over to Douglas who confirmed it with a tightening of his lips._

They were annoying. It was mean-spirited. Had Mr. Birling continued with that line of jokes Martin would have brushed it off his shoulders at the end of the day.

_Martin held Mr. Birling's arm and tried to steer him out of Gerti. The old man was so drunk, Martin thought of grabbing a wheel chair for him. Just as Mr. Birling stumbled, Martin reached out to hold him and Birling's lips, hot and foul smelling, pressed against Martin's ear and whispered feverishly, "Do you even remember your dad dying?"_

Maybe he shouldn't have flown today.

Douglas waited by the door. Martin had yet to move from his captain chair, staring out the window. "Martin-"

"I would like to be left alone," Martin said. "I just need five minutes."

It was the first request Martin ever gave since the accident. Thankfully, Douglas didn't protest. "Alright," he said. "I'll be waiting in the portacabin for you."

Once he left, Martin sunk deeper into this seat, sighing heavily. At this point he didn't feel angry anymore. The need to keep himself from taking a swing at Mr. Birling took too much energy- Martin was exhausted. He could feel it in his muscls, in his bones, making him feel like a hundred pounds heavier.

He needed... he didn't know what he needed. A nap? Food? Exercise? He even thought of kissing Douglas, holding him and having sex with him but not even those thoughts spurred feelings of arousal. Whatever Martin needed at that moment wasn't going to be found at home.

A headache was slowly growing. Taking that as a sign, Martin got up from his chair. He turned off the lights and gathered his bags. He walked out the cockpit, stopping suddenly when he realised he wasn't alone.

Out in the cabin, sitting by the window was Arthur. He was looking out, his face scrunched up, crying silently.

Martin had no idea if Arthur's silence was his common behaviour, but crying alone in a darken aeroplane was not. Martin couldn't leave him here like this. Pushing away the thoughts of Mr. Birling, Martin walked down the aisle, placed his bags down and sat in the chair next to Arthur.

"Arthur," Martin said gently. "What's wrong?"

Arthur turned to him. He looked like a lost little boy. "I'm so sorry, Skip."

"It's okay. I should have taken your mum's advice. I had no idea Mr. Birling would be such a-"

"Not that. I mean, yes, that, but also..." He hiccuped. "It was all my fault. I'm so sorry, Skipper, it's all my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm the one who spilled the drink. The one you slipped one."

Coldness spread through Martin's chest. "What did you say?"

"It was an accident," Arthur said, wiping at his face. "I meant to come back to clean it up, I swear, I didn't mean to leave it there, but I got distracted. And then I heard you... I'm so sorry, Skipper, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me."

He sobbed into his hands, saying 'sorry' over and over again.

Martin felt like he couldn't breathe. His lungs tightened and he clutched a hand to his chest. His eyesight blurred and he willed himself to calm down, not wishing to faint. "Why," he started. "Why didn't you tell anyone of this?"

"I didn't know at first," Arthur said with his head still down. His hands covered his eyes, not his mouth, allowing Martin to hear him clearly. "Mum told me you fell in the airport. She didn't tell me it was because of a spilled drink. Douglas mentioned it later, a few days after you were hospitalized and I... I don't know why I kept quiet for so long. I didn't want it to be true, that I was the reason why you... and after what happened today with Mr. Birling..."

Martin stood up, giving himself space. He was trying to hold in his anger. Yelling at Arthur won't do him any good, it won't bring back his memories, it won't-

His fault. It's his fault Martin couldn't remember the faces of his nieces and nephews. His fault Martin couldn't remember Douglas and the path that ultimately brought them to marry.

Martin took a weary step forward, towards the doors. He thought he was going to be sick-

He collasped against an arm rest, the anger sucked right out of him. He sagged heavily, sinking off the armrest and onto the seat. He rested his head against the worn fabric of the chair.

"Skipper?" Arthur said worryingly. He got up and stepped over to where Martin sat, barely moving. "Are you okay?"

Martin took a breath. "I forgive you."

"What?"

"I said I forgive you."

Arthur's face was threatening to scrunch up again. "Why?" He hiccuped. "Why would you forgive me?"

Maybe it was past experiences bubbling up to the surface. Maybe deep down he knew Arthur was his friend. Tears welled up in Martin's eyes and he tried once again to regain his anger. He had a right to be angry. Why couldn't he be angry?

When the anger wouldn't come, Martin dropped it. Maybe if he couldn't be angry, he could be forgiving instead. "Because," he said. He cracked a weary grin. "I don't remember how not to be."

Arthur broke down. Martin made no effort to console him and it was at this, Martin knew why he forgave Arthur so easily. Arthur would never forgive himself. And that was punishment enough.

 

 

 

Douglas thankfully said nothing when Martin came back with his eyes red and looking more exhausted than before. Instead, Douglas took Martin home, made him chicken soup, and afterwards made love to him so slowly and tenderly Martin was nearly sobbing by the end of it.

Sex had erased Martin's fears temporarily. Once the endorphins faded away, he was back at square one, afraid of the unknown. "What if I don't ever get my memories back?" Martin said as Douglas pulled him close to his chest. "There's a chance, you know."

"Let's not think about that." Douglas murmured.

"Yeah, but what if? What should I do then? Forever wander around, pretending I don't know what people are talking about?"

Douglas was quiet for such a long time, Martin thought he fell asleep. "I don't know," he'd finally admitted. "But we'll deal with it like we always have."

"How can you be so positive about this? How can you have such confidence?"

"It's not confidence. If there's one thing I've learned is, life carries on. We will carry on. Take it a day at a time and see what happens."

See what happens.

"Miles to go before I sleep," Martin quoted quietly.

"Miles to go before I sleep," Douglas finished.

 

 

 

The next morning Martin slipped back on his wedding ring.

He half-pondered, unsure of the feel of the weight on his finger. And yet he couldn't deny how comfortable it was. Unlike his dad's ring, which sat a little big on Martin's finger, the wedding ring was perfectly shaped.

He flexed his hand. It felt good.

He looked up and stared at himself in the mirror. There were a few wrinkles, a few skin spots that weren't there before. His hair was a bit thinner, perhaps a bit lighter, he couldn't tell. The man in the mirror was not the man Martin remembered.

But he was a man whom he admired. This was a man who became a captain, got married, and found lifelong friends. This was a man who lived life to the fullest. Martin vowed to live up to that legacy.

He liked what he saw.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Martin said to himself.


End file.
